


Rats des Villes

by Sparrow (hersilentlanguage)



Series: Love is a Cat From Hell [3]
Category: Descendants (Disney Movies), The Isle of the Lost Series - Melissa de la Cruz
Genre: (Mostly) Canonical Alternate Universe, Abusive Cruella de Vil (101 Dalmatians), Action/Adventure, Angst with a Happy Ending, Anxious Carlos de Vil, BAMF Jay (Disney), Bad Things Happen To Carlos, Carlos-centric, Everyone Is Gay, Evie & Jay & Mal & Carlos de Vil as Found Family, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Isle of the Lost (Disney) is a Terrible Place, Jaylos-centric, M/M, No Smut, Protective Carlos, Protective Jay, Queerplatonic Relationships, Ratigan as shadow antagonist, about sums it up, childhood trauma/abuse, he's BAMF-in-training, jaylos, malvie, seriously look at him he's got anxiety, spooky rats driving this plot home
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-18
Updated: 2020-02-04
Packaged: 2021-02-27 14:21:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 15,713
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22298497
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hersilentlanguage/pseuds/Sparrow
Summary: Jay sighed. “You’re the worst,” he said flatly, not meaning a word of it even in the darkest parts of his soul. “You could’ve come and found me, y’know. Hell, you could have told me about the other night, like… I don’t know,yesterday?”Carlos nodded at that, chewing on his lip. “I know.”“But you figured, what?” said Jay, narrowing his eyes. “Worst thing that happens is you’re served up as a side of ribs, huh? Maybe the rats get a few bites in first?”“Jay, come on…” Carlos sighed, raising his hands in a placating gesture. (He wasn’t sorry for what had happened. Not really.) “What do you want me to say? It’s not like I planned it. I wasn’t thinking, and yeah, things got out of control. I just…” He shook his head.Jay stared at him a long moment, then broke off with a noise that sounded suspiciously distressed as he ran both his hands through his hair. “We’re gonna have to tell Mal about this—first thing tomorrow. She’s gonna kill us both, but... f*ck, if it’s not just talk about Ratigan and your mom, and hesawyou today? Yeah. Yeah, we have to.”Carlos stared at him, unblinking. “W-we?” he asked, almost inaudible. Jay huffed a little and glanced away, but nodded.
Relationships: Carlos de Vil & Cruella de Vil, Evie & Carlos de Vil, Evie & Jay & Mal & Carlos de Vil, Evie/Mal (Disney), Jay & Evie, Jay/Carlos de Vil, Mal & Carlos de Vil, Mal & Jay
Series: Love is a Cat From Hell [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1605898
Comments: 44
Kudos: 86





	1. Right Here, Right Now

**Author's Note:**

> This story will centre primarily on the developing bond and exploration of feelings between Carlos and Jay in the context of the Isle, when love and friendship are pretty foreign concepts. The timeline for this story is pre-Auradon, but imagines that King Ben's proclamation would occur further in the future than it does in canon, so the Core Four are on the Isle for a longer period of their lives. It should also be assumed that they all got to know each other at a younger age than in the books, so they have more history behind them and as much of a bond as the Isle will allow by the point this story begins.
> 
> The Core Four (as a group) will be written as having a queer-platonic/found family dynamic. It was originally my intention to write all relationships therein as emotionally-intimate but otherwise open to interpretation; however, I've since decided I want to write this as explicitly pre-romantic Jaylos (paralleled with pre-romantic Malvie build-up, starting in Chapter 4). Due to the fact that the Core Four are minors in this timeline, this story won't deal with any overtly sexual content. To be clear: this means _no smut_ (implied or otherwise), it doesn't mean that relationships here won't naturally progress toward romantic intimacy.
> 
> As for the antagonists for this story, we've got Cruella and Ratigan (an unlikely team-up, I know, but just you wait and see what comes of their combined evils). Ratigan won't actually get a lot of page time (if any), but he will still be a driving force for the plot, because... well, there's rats. Lots of rats. Spooky rats! Cruella, meanwhile, will appear at multiple points throughout this story.
> 
> Be aware that this story is part of a series, so you do have the _option_ of reading two other stories that chronologically precede this one (a oneshot and a brief multi-chap). Those stories will give you detailed context for various sub-plots in this story, especially regarding the circumstances of Beelzebub's disappearance; however, all key details are succinctly referenced in dialogue and narrative within this story to ensure that readers who just want to start here can follow the plot, no problem.
> 
> **Please check the end notes for chapter-specific trigger warnings; however, note that they may contain spoilers!**

The mauve-tinged grey sky was deepening to a bruised shade of evening across the Isle. An hour ago, the last rays of sun had graced the distant hills and castles of Auradon, giving a sharp contrast to the gloomy, brooding spit of land in the bay. Now, in the hated village, the ever-present shadows grew to fill the many spaces between lanterns.

It was light enough to see the way ahead through the winding streets, even if you were to be running in a panic, with no concept of where the next turn would take you.

It was light enough that anyone chasing you would have this same advantage.

Carlos had intended to hide a little longer from his pursuers, wait for the skies to darken further, and then disappear in the night.

The problem was someone had seen him in the hay of the apple cart and taken to beating him out with a broom like he was some stray animal. The commotion had drawn decidedly too much attention, and it only doubled when one of his pursuers leapt in unexpectedly, only to be knocked out by the merchant wielding the broom.

Carlos was lucky for that—though not so lucky to have found another hiding spot since. He had been running blind for about ten minutes when Jay appeared, moving parallel along the rooftops.

Carlos hadn’t even waved to him, just noticed him at a glance and kept running; however, he also noticed, after a series of impulsive turns and spontaneous shortcuts, that Jay was still shadowing him after several minutes.

In fact, he had just dropped down into the streets at Carlos’ heels without bothering to announce himself.

( _Thieves’ habit,_ Jay would say as a sort of apology. He laughed off any incidents that arose from it, like the time Evie had stopped short of throwing a vial of acid in his face when he’d snuck into Carlos’ treehouse, not so much as rustling his clothes or creaking a floorboard.)

(Honestly, Mal swore she’d put a bell on him one day.)

“Remind me again—” Carlos huffed out a breath as he skidded around a corner, throwing a look back to check whether Jay had followed him. “—why _you’re_ running?”

Jay laughed. “Not sure,” he admitted, leaping up to grab a clothesline and swing ahead of Carlos. The line snapped under his weight after a few seconds, but he just ducked into a roll and kept running. “You should tell me.”

Carlos shot him a look. _“I guess,”_ he muttered, “since you had to go and get yourself involved.” He cleared a few rat-infested sacks of flour with only a bit of a stumble upon landing.

Someone shouted behind them, and Jay chanced a look over his shoulder to see a few masked thugs hustling down the street with murder in their eyes. He raised an eyebrow. “You know what, man? Tell me later. C’mon—”

Carlos yelped in surprise when Jay grabbed a fistful of his jacket, yanking him sideways without warning, then hauling him up onto the rungs of a rickety ladder. He felt disoriented, and struggled to find his footing even as Jay urged him, “Go, go, go!”

“I’m _going!”_ Carlos hissed, scrambling upwards until he could reach for the lip of the building. He was breathing heavily as he hauled himself over and onto the flat rooftop. His knees were shaking from stress more than exertion as he struggled back to his feet.

Jay appeared a moment later.

“Hold on,” he called to Carlos, seeing that he was ready to keep running. “Let me just...” Jay trailed off, reaching into one of his vest pockets to produce a short knife with a scratched-up wooden handle; the blade, while clearly sharp, inspired very little confidence.

“You’re not serious,” said Carlos, heaving an exasperated sigh. “Jay, come on, _please..._ ”

Jay paused and gave him a strange look.

_“What?”_

“You said please,” Jay shrugged, unable to keep from smirking when Carlos glanced away from him (too late to hide a flush of embarrassment).

“Shut up, you’re hearing things,” he mumbled.

“Yeah, _you_ —saying things.” Jay flashed a grin.

Carlos huffed, crossing his arms in a petulant display. He watched sidelong as Jay stooped and went to work on something. “What’re you… doing?” he asked, his tone becoming incredulous as he leaned forward to observe that Jay was sawing at the ladder.

“You’ll see,” Jay said simply.

But Carlos was more concerned with what he saw when he leaned out a little further. The masked thugs were pooling in the street below, talking fast with some urchin who was sat on a barrel, nodding several times as he pointed up the ladder, to the rooftop.

A thug with hairy, muscled arms that protruded from his sleeveless black shirt stepped forward and placed a black-gloved hand on one of the ladder rungs. He seemed to feel Carlos’ stare, because he turned his chin up with a dark promise in his eyes that had Carlos stepping back from the ledge almost immediately.

“Um, Jay…”

“Just give me a minute.”

“We don’t _have_ a minute,” said Carlos, wincing when his voice cracked. He hated to stand around like this, waiting for trouble, and it didn’t help his nerves that Jay was so calm, because— _of course he’s calm, he doesn’t even know what we’re running from_ —

And maybe that was why Jay was smiling when he finally stood up, sheathed his knife, and dusted off a little sawdust from his pants.

His smile went a little crooked when he noticed that Carlos looked ready to bolt (though, not before first shoving Jay off the roof to buy him some time).

“Hey, relax…” Jay drawled. “I’ve got ‘em handled.” He hooked his thumbs in his pockets and rocked back on his heels, relaxed and confident and perfectly oblivious to the black-gloved hand that had just appeared over the ledge, trying to grab at his ankle.

Carlos flinched back, pointing furiously at the ledge. “So, what’s that, a _pigeon?”_

Jay raised an eyebrow, turning back around to see a hairy arm slithering up into view. “Damn it. Alright. Plan B.” He glanced over his shoulder at Carlos, the shadow of a smile still apparent in his eyes. “Just go,” he said. “I’ll catch up in a sec. Don’t worry.”

Carlos hesitated, watching as Jay dropped into a crouch and pulled the knife out from his vest again, quick as a viper to strike right down into the marrow.

The time elapsed beneath the knife’s entrance and the masked man’s shriek of pain was more than expected, making it sound almost performative.

Jay studied the blood that had smeared up the length of his blade and onto the handle. It looked inky in the deepening twilight; its smell was more acrid than metallic, like something out of a vial in Weird Science. He went to lick it on impulse, and made a face.

_“Gross,”_ he complained to no one, spitting off to the side just as the masked man raised his head above the ledge with a smouldering glare.

Their eyes met in the split-second before Jay took another swing, arced as if to slash open a crescent smile. He staggered his aim with expert precision so that, instead, the thug leaned back on instinct, causing him to slip down the ladder a few rungs until he could catch himself.

Cursing, the thug regained his footing and started back up the ladder. He wasn’t about to lose face with the others on the job by letting Jafar’s brat intimidate him. The shouts from below only fueled his resolve.

“By Evil, boy, I’ll have your h— _ARGH!”_

Jay had leaned back out of sight, waiting patiently with the knife in his fist for the moment the thug reached over the ledge with his good arm.

The knife bit down above the thug’s wrist, stuck like a pin between his radius and ulna. Jay smirked in satisfaction. “Hey, that was a close one. I’d hate to nick the leather, y’know?”

He tugged at the man’s glove with his free hand, yanking it off to reveal a trail of rat paws tattooed across the base of the thumb. _Ratigan’s mark._

Jay kept the knife in place for several seconds, ignoring the man’s loud threats and profanities— _dishonour on him, death on his cow, the usual nonsense_.

Any human subdued by Ratigan was another villain’s outcast—no more able to find _respectable_ dirty work, but stupid and vicious enough to be useful to someone like Ratigan, who valued most the quantity of his minions.

Jay took a last hard look at the mark, wondering whose tail Carlos had stepped on this time. It wasn’t like him to go looking for trouble. (Not this sort, no.)

“Anyway, it’s been fun,” said Jay, pulling the knife free and sheathing it uncleaned. He leapt onto his feet, then slammed a boot down on the masked man’s nose as he tried to life his head above the ledge again.

A gurgling noise rendered the thug incoherent as he clawed angrily at Jay’s billowing pant leg. The airy brown fabric tore slightly at the hip, causing Jay to frown and push down a little harder.

He heard a slow, splintering crack from one of the side railings. _Finally,_ he thought, watching the thug flail a little as the ladder went slightly askew.

Jay had sawed as hard as he could where the ladder’s wood had been bent to hook over the lip of the roof, then screwed into the bricks. The feet of the ladder had rotted into the mud years ago, so with just a _little_ more encouragement, it’d be crumbling like a Jenga tower.

Problem was, Jay had calculated for the weight of the whole group of thugs trying to scale the ladder at once. He was vaguely amused to see that, instead, the lot were no better than the teens of Dragon Hall, who’d circle and chant out _fight, fight, fight_ whenever Jay so much as bumped shoulders with Third or Junior.

It happened seemingly all at once that Jay once more gave a push with his boot, felt the man’s hands scrabbling—slick with blood—to tangle in his laces, heard the tell-tale _crack_ (much louder than before), and felt a headlong rush as he began to lose his balance.

He saw the thug’s eyes gleam like a flash of sunlight on metal, like he could accept what was about to happen if he was taking Jay with him, but then—

“JAY!”

A yelp tore out from the thug’s throat; or else, it was Jay, who heard himself as though outside his body. The next he knew, the evening sky was stretched out above him, showing faint golden traces of the barrier’s magic like sparks amidst the smog. _Almost (but never) beautiful._

Jay blew out a noisy breath, disturbing the hair that had fallen across his face. “Ow,” he grumbled, feeling something squishy as he tried to sit up.

“Yeah, _ow,”_ came a voice from beneath him.

Jay rolled quickly onto his knees, taking a fistful of Carlos’ shirt to pull him up into a sitting position. They were both glowering at each other, but Jay was the first to exclaim, “For Lucifer’s sake, Cee! You could’ve—” He made a frustrated noise, glancing away. “That was _stupid,”_ he concluded.

Carlos scoffed. “What, saving your ass?”

“Yeah, no, I was saving _your_ ass,” Jay reminded him with a huff. He pushed his long hair back from his face, shooting a look when Carlos chuckled drily.

He watched Carlos get to his feet, cross to the ledge, and peer down into the street with muted interest. “Long live evil,” Carlos deadpanned, saluting the scene below.

In the yellow glow of lantern light, he could see a few of the thugs glaring up at him as the dust cleared. The ladder had crumbled into a hundred pieces, and the group was making no effort to pull their ring leader from the pile of screws and wood scraps.

“I told you to go,” Jay said in a low voice, coming to stand behind Carlos. Their eyes met briefly in a side-glance as Jay laid a gentle hand on Carlos’ shoulder, feeling him tense slightly at the contact before relaxing.

“You also said you’d be a sec,” said Carlos.

Jay rolled his eyes. “I said a minute.”

“No, that was _before_ you said—”

“Whatever, dude. It doesn’t matter now.” Jay swatted at Carlos with the glove he’d swiped from the thug, pulling away toward the other side of the roof. “I bought us some time, but they’ll be back on our tails soon, so I say we make like rats and… _scurry.”_ He waggled his fingers as he said it.

Carlos groaned, trailing slowly after him. _No hope of sweeping it under the rug now. He knew. Jay had seen the mark._ “It’s not wh—” he started to say, but stopped himself.

Jay wasn’t listening.

He had broken into a run, gaining momentum to make the jump to the next rooftop. With confidence and cat-like grace, he kicked off one ledge and sailed across the other, landing in an acrobatic tumble before springing back onto his feet. He turned around with a grin that pierced through the shadows, his mind still soaring on a rush of adrenaline.

“Show-off,” Carlos sighed affectionately. He stepped back a few feet, then sprinted toward the ledge. His breath hitched as he cleared the gap—as ever, struggling to trust the feeling of weightlessness, even as much as it enchanted him—until, all at once, the next rooftop rushed to meet him, and he fell forward into something warm and solid.

“Short legs, huh?” Jay said teasingly, keeping a grip on Carlos’ shoulders until he’d steadied himself. Carlos looked up at him with a scowl, but Jay only laughed, waving lazily for him to follow as he made for a door.

“Where are we going?” asked Carlos, not seeing any markings on the door and not sure he recognized the building. He’d spent his whole life on the Isle, same as anyone else his age, but growing up, his mother had kept him from wandering far, half by force and half by manipulation. She filled his head with awful stories of vicious, hungry, disease-ridden dogs to the point that he was paralyzed at the mere mention of them.

Once, when little Carlos had worked up the nerve to explore the village at night after his mother had passed out from drinking, he had unwittingly stepped too-near to the mouth of Hades’ cave. A sharp bark rang out from deep within, and although no actual dog appeared, the loud, ceaseless barking was enough to paralyze Carlos with fright.

Panic had, quite literally, assaulted him while he stood there waiting to be mauled. Instead, Jasper and Horace found him there around dawn, just a little after Hades’ minion grew bored of jeering at him.

It was the first time he had been genuinely happy to see his mother’s bumbling minions. Even happier to be dragged back into the confines of Hell Hall (at least, until his mother met them in the doorway, took him by the ear, and whispered harshly that she would feed him to Hades’ dog if he ever thought to disappear on her again).

He swallowed at the thought.

_“Ahem.”_

Carlos realized Jay had paused with his hand on the doorknob, his expression caught somewhere between worried and impatient.

“Where…” Carlos started to say, then trailed off, remembering he’d already asked. He winced at the slip, and gestured lamely at the door. “Uh, shortcut?”

Jay smirked. “Nah. The long way, actually.”

At that, Carlos opened his mouth to say something, looking suddenly more anxious, but Jay raised his hands in a placating gesture, and added quickly, “Chill, man. I know you have a curfew or whatever.”

Carlos glanced at his shoes, embarrassed. He didn’t see how Jay’s expression softened, but he could hear it in his voice when he spoke again: “It’s better we stay off the streets for a while, okay? Anything happens, I’ll just sweet talk the old lady while you sneak in the back. You’re fine.”

He gave a mockingly suggestive wink, and Carlos couldn’t help chuckling. When Jay inclined his head toward the door in silent question, Carlos nodded.

“Cool,” said Jay, smiling a little. He started to twist the doorknob, then paused. “One thing. We gotta be quiet in here. Anyone hears us and it’s as good as if we’d been seen.”

Carlos quirked an eyebrow. “So, we’re trespassing.” He glanced around, then back to Jay. “On whose turf?”

Jay hesitated.

“Whose turf?” asked Carlos, crossing his arms now.

There was a crash somewhere in the streets below and several people began yelling at each other. Jay shifted his weight, looking tense. “To be decided,” he replied in a low, serious voice. “Just follow my lead, and _seriously_... no talking.”

Carlos narrowed his eyes at Jay, opening his mouth to say something further as the door creaked open (and okay, maybe it was a little bit for spite, but he was also curious, considering the thugs had run him blindly off Mal’s turf into this less familiar part of the village).

Jay saw the intention and clamped a hand down over Carlos’ mouth, his other hand holding the door ajar. He said nothing, only gave Carlos a warning look—the kind of look that _used_ to send Carlos skittering, back before they were… in a gang. Together.

These days, it only made Carlos roll his eyes. Still, as he pushed Jay’s arm away, he nodded his agreement. _No talking._

Jay studied his face for a moment. He withdrew a step, having decided Carlos was being serious, then pulled the door open further. _After you,_ he gestured, bowing grandly to lighten the mood.

_Ever the prince among thieves,_ Carlos thought to himself, pretending to curtsy with the hem of his jacket. He smirked when Jay responded with an honest grin, both glad to feel the tension dissipate between them as they stepped into the shadows.

Jay closed the door behind them with a soft click.

It was quiet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Trigger Warnings (chapter-specific):** blood (not super graphic, but might squick you if you're sensitive to mentions of injury), non-explicit references to child abuse (looking at you Cruella de Vil), implied anxiety disorder/symptoms (Carlos), minor character death implied (non-graphic description; plus, it's just a stock character), and related to the last one... low-key murder, I guess?


	2. Me and You (Together)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Annnd I'm back with a new chapter less than 24 hours after posting the first one due to the power of hyperfocus vested in me by ADHD (thx brain).
> 
> Thank you to the lovely folks who commented on the first chapter! You're all really sweet and I'm happy to know people are enjoying this story 'cause it's been a lot of fun to write. I'm quite fond of how this chapter turned out, but I'll wait to talk about that more in the end notes to leave room for mystery or what have you.
> 
> **Please check the end notes for chapter-specific trigger warnings (may contain spoilers).**

The door had opened onto the top landing of a dusty, littered stairwell that seemed to spiral down past the street level and into the earth below. It was just a guess, with the only light here being what spilled from various cracks and holes in the surrounding walls, some of which were apparently occupied homes and businesses.

Carlos tuned in and out of various conversations and bouts of song as he shadowed Jay’s movements, careful not to step on crinkling papers or glass shards.

A little ways down, where a warm draft could be felt from a particular fissure, Carlos faltered as he took in a rare and pleasant floral scent. He drew near to the wall, almost unconsciously, gently pressing his palm against the mouldering wood as he tried to spy through the fissure.

The scent reminded him of a perfume that Evie would occasionally get her hands on. She applied it sparingly so that it’d last, in case the barge failed to bring new product or Lady Tremaine bought-out the supply ahead of time.

Carlos was fond of the scent from the many hours he and Evie had spent curled up against the chill and gloom of the Isle. He could smell it in her hair as he rested against her shoulder, feeling the vibrations of her voice, sweetly murmuring all the filthy chores she would make his mother do for _them_ some day, when Evie was a queen.

He smiled dazedly. (Nights like those, he felt… something as close to comfort as one could ever feel on the Isle.)

Jay paused on a landing below, realizing that Carlos had fallen behind. He suppressed an eye-roll as he slunk back up the steps, took a firm hold of Carlos’ hand, and all but dragged him away from the fissure.

When Carlos tried to tug his hand free, Jay shot him a look like a parent might give their toddler prone to wandering. Carlos had the nerve to look put-out by it, but Jay didn’t let go. He only loosened his grip a little.

Halfway down the stairwell, Jay gestured for them to stop in front of a roughed-up wooden door. He made quick work of the lock on it, and guided Carlos through into a small, musty storage room.

Jay nudged Carlos to get his attention, then pointed to a particular ceiling tile above a stack of boxes in the centre of the room. ‘ _Up there,’_ he mouthed, and Carlos nodded before starting forward to make the climb.

Jay lingered by the door, leaving it open just long enough for Carlos to get his bearings in what would soon be a room full of shadows. The last thing they needed was for Carlos to topple anything in the dark. (He was clumsy sometimes, but especially when he panicked.)

Jay felt for the lock as he shut the door, careful to secure it from within exactly as it had been when he picked it. He took some pride in his skill as a lock-pick, gracious to never damage the hardware unless absolutely necessary.

Carlos, who had climbed atop the boxes easily enough, was meanwhile straining on the tips of his toes to reach the ceiling tile, his fingers splayed out above him in vain.

He was debating whether he could jump for it when he felt Jay brush past him. The ceiling tile scraped softly out of place, followed shortly by the feeling of a soft whoosh of air as Jay hauled himself up onto one of the support beams with ease.

A moment later, Jay was laid out on his chest with one arm dangling down, his fingers brushing through the tips of Carlos’ white hair in a teasing way.

Carlos breathed a sigh, reaching up until he found a grip on Jay’s arm, just below his elbow. His nails dug slightly into the bunched fabric of Jay’s jacket sleeve. He felt Jay taking a similar hold on him, except that his hand was able to close completely around the slight width of Carlos’ arm.

Jay gave a gentle squeeze, signalling that he was about to pull Carlos up. He waited until he felt a squeeze in return.

The effort it took for Jay to pull Carlos up into the rafters was no more significant than if he had lifted a pair of bluebirds into the sky at some Auradonian wedding.

The strange thing was how it made Jay feel, because that feeling was attached to the even _stranger_ idea that he cared about Carlos in the whimsical sense of love and trust and pixie dust—the stuff of fairy tales told to royal heirs as they lay in their plush beds with dream-filled eyes.

Jay smiled wryly at the thought, knowing as well as anyone else here that the Isle was where dreams came to die. He was born of his father’s disappointments and failures. He was born to _do_ better, not _be_ better, and yet—

Carlos poked him, startling Jay from his thoughts.

He quickly released his grip on Carlos, who seemed to have settled himself into a crouch atop the support beam. Jay could feel him staring in the darkness, probably anxious to keep moving. _Who knew what time it was?_

A soft scraping sound alerted Carlos that the ceiling tile had been set back in place. He waited, listening to the gentle rustle of Jay’s clothing and the gritty noise that preceded a spark of light as a match was briefly lit.

The flame danced in Jay’s dark eyes. His face was serious, the expression emphasized by the play of deep shadow. He held the match out to his left, showing how the wooden beam extended straight ahead to a vent-opening with the grate removed to reveal nothing but further shadow (probably another attic).

Carlos nodded in understanding.

The match went out.

Jay stood to take the lead, holding his arms out like a tightrope performer as he strode along the beam, his each step slow but certain.

The wood groaned slightly when Carlos made to follow, so he held back, counting out a few seconds, then carried after Jay on his hands and knees. The beam was just wide enough to allow that, what with his small stature, but he still moved carefully, with mind to keeping his balance.

At the end of the beam, Jay dragged his hands down the wall to guide himself as he stooped to inspect the space on the other side of the vent-opening.

He lit a match and held it out ahead of him, his eyes sweeping across the plywood that had been screwed into the rafters, halfway to making a proper room of the place. _Well, that’s new,_ he thought to himself.

It seemed the family who lived in the rooms below the adjoining attic had done their best to seal off any access points to the lower floors. He noted with bemusement that they had also tacked up cardboard signs with such notices as ‘THRU-TRAFFIK ONLY’ and ‘NO STOPPIN’ and ‘KEEP QUIET’ painted in large, messy red lettering.

Not a problem, as Jay only wanted to get them through to the other side of the space, where lantern light could be seen to glow faintly through the broken slats of a small shutter that marked a vent-opening which led back outside.

He lit a third match to glance behind and check on Carlos, concerned to see that he was clinging to the support beam like a cat too high up a tree. His concern must have been obvious on his face, because Carlos frowned and mouthed to him, ‘ _What? I’m fine!’_

Jay was decidedly skeptical of that, but he blew the match out, anyway, and carried on ahead of Carlos.

The last vent was a tight squeeze, at least for Jay. He grit his teeth as he pushed out into the cool night air, trying not to bang the shutters against the building. His jacket caught on something in the frame, tearing one of the seams to expose his skin so that it scraped and peeled when he forced his shoulders through.

He glanced up to confirm that the rusty gutter was still in place along the roof, then stretched to hook his hands in it. His weight held when he tugged, so he slid his legs out, looked down, and let himself drop.

The fall was several yards, but the landing was fairly easy on his knees, since the rooftop below had acquired a thick enough layer of dirt over time to encourage the growth of scraggly grey-green moss. It had been picked at only a bit, since the average passer-by was more interested in the wares to be bought (or stolen) from the row of market stalls which had been built up against the larger block of buildings he and Carlos had been traveling through.

At this hour, the market stalls in this area were long dead, so Jay wasn’t surprised by the relative quiet. He’d been counting on it, in fact.

When Carlos finally emerged from the vent, it was legs first, kicking and dangling. He slid out up to his hips, with his toes grappling for any little foothold they could find on the side of the building.

Jay crossed his arms, watching in amusement as Carlos wriggled like a caterpillar with too few legs, trying desperately to keep his belly flush with the wall as he emerged further. His shirt and jacket had bunched up under him in the process, causing him a good deal more grief as the fabric snagged and tore at multiple points.

(Yeah, Evie was going to kill them both later.)

Carlos gave a low whine of discontent as he was left with no choice but to unhook his shirt by pushing back from the wall. He felt one of his boots coming loose when he went to adjust his footing, and in his effort to keep hold of it, he managed to slip down the wall a short ways.

His reflexes kicked in, and he caught himself on the vent sill like a cat with claws unsheathed, dangling by his fingertips, his nails pressed deep enough into the old wood to impress upon it.

“Um. Jay?” Carlos whispered, flinching a bit at how loud his voice sounded in his own ears after so long in silence.

Jay tried to stifle his amusement. “Hmm?” he responded, little more than a soft hum of acknowledgement.

“Help,” said Carlos, a little embarrassed to admit that he hadn’t really thought through his exit strategy. He’d been doing fine, staying clear-headed; but then, he felt a squish of dropping beneath his fingers while crawling toward the last vent, and worse, as Jay disappeared through the opening, he could’ve sworn he saw rats gathering in the darkness around him.

The truth, if Carlos was being honest with himself, was that he hadn’t been thinking much in general, going after Ratigan without so much as a word to anyone about it.

Ratigan was minor in stature, but still, he was known to have one major speciality on the Isle, and that was espionage. His network of minions was extensive, their numbers not easily counted or kept in check; there just really were never many traps or poisons that came in on the garbage barges, seeing as how the people of Auradon paid _their_ rats and mice as housekeepers.

Carlos shuddered at the thought.

A pebble struck him on the back of his head, and he realized Jay had been speaking to him.

“Cee, are you listening? Just let go already.”

Jay bounced another pebble in his palm, watching Carlos for any sign of agreement. There was no verbal response, but he caught a subtle nod right before Carlos pushed off from the wall and let himself drop.

Jay caught him with a soft grunt.

Carlos was shaking slightly when Jay set him back on his feet. He offered Jay a quick half-smile, though, not wanting to be obvious about his nerves, because—

 _Of course there’re rats in the attic,_ he chided himself internally. _Obviously! It’s an attic. Stupid, stupid, stupid._

“Forgetting something?” Jay asked.

Carlos had hobbled a few steps, but he stopped at Jay’s question, suddenly very aware of the feeling of mud squishing beneath his socked-foot. “My boot,” he realized, dragging a hand over his face.

Jay chuckled, already bending to retrieve the boot from where it had fallen. “Think fast.” He tossed the boot to Carlos, who caught it on reflex.

When Carlos was done grumbling at his muddy sock and lacing both his boots up tight around his ankles, he saw that Jay was waiting for him at the edge of the market stall’s rooftop. “This way,” Jay said quietly, slipping down over a thick green canvas awning and onto the dimly lit street below.

Carlos hesitated, sparing a glance back up to the vent they’d emerged from. He couldn’t be sure if his anxiety was playing tricks or if there really were several sets of black, beady eyes looking back at him.

He hurried after Jay, not wanting to be alone with his worries.

From that point, they traveled over, under, through, and between several more buildings in the area, never following a straight or sensible route. Jay might have seemed lost with the way he had them doubling back and moving in circles, but Carlos knew better than to question him.

Jay had grown up on the streets, albeit not for a lack of shelter. He had a musty pile of rugs to call a bed when he wanted it. It was just that his father’s junk shop was a place of business more than a home, and Jafar didn’t care either way if his son was in or out as long as he kept the shelves stocked.

“Alright,” said Jay, the first word he’d spoken above a whisper in the last hour. He had led them out onto the rooftop of a boarded-up shop on a block within sight of Bargain Castle. Home turf for the both of them, as the area was known to be under Mal’s protection.

Carlos nodded absently, starting to feel tired. His boots dragged through the thin layer of gravel that lined the roof as he came to stand beside Jay, who seemed to hesitate before asking, “So... Ratigan, huh?”

“It’s not what you think,” Carlos said immediately.

Jay hummed at that. “Well, what do I think?”

“Dunno,” Carlos admitted, eyeing him a little warily. He gave a resigned sigh, and then added in a softer voice, “I mean, probably that I’m an idiot.”

Jay chuckled. “Well, yeah,” he replied, gently cuffing the side of Carlos’ head. “But what else?”

“Hmph.”

It was quiet for a moment, until—

“You should tell me,” said Jay, his tone a little more serious. He was careful not to meet Carlos’ eyes, having said that—instead, he looked out over their ramshackle village, the ink-black sea, and the twinkling gold lights of Auradon in the deep distance.

Night fell so thickly on the Isle, with little moonlight and hardly any stars that could penetrate the gloom that hung above their heads—the gloom that had hung just below the magical barrier for as long as anyone could remember having been there, themselves.

Carlos shifted, crunching gravel. “You’ll laugh.”

“If it’s funny,” Jay agreed, already feeling the twitch of a smile at Carlos’ sulking undertone. He waited a few moments before shifting his gaze back, seeing that Carlos had been studying him with a soft frown.

Finally, Carlos nodded. “Yeah, okay,” he relented, crossing his arms tight as a chilling, rot-tinged breeze whispered past them. His jacket, while beautifully designed—a testament to what Evie could do with a pile of moth-eaten scraps—wasn’t fit for the cold.

He chewed at his lip. “So, um, it’s about Bee.”

“Wait, as in Beelzebub? I thought you said she was…”

_Missing. Gone. Presumed dead. Possibly dinner._

Carlos swallowed thickly. “I don’t know. I don’t know anymore.” He paused, taking a breath. “Mom said…” He stopped again, and shook his head. “I don’t know.”

Jay nodded slowly. “That’s okay,” he said, watching Carlos begin to fidget with his sleeves, tugging at a loose and dangling bit of red thread until it snapped free in his grip. He waited for Carlos to continue.

“The other night,” Carlos murmured, idly weaving the thread between his fingers as he spoke, “I thought I heard her at the window.” He frowned. “Mom said it wasn’t, and she got really weird when I tried to go look. She made Jasper go, and Bee _hates_ Jasper…“

Carlos looked up at Jay with a strained smile, quiet for a moment as he searched for something in them. _Belief, maybe._ Jay laid an encouraging hand on his shoulder.

“I know it’s not much to go on,” said Carlos, “but Jasper was all scratched up when I saw him later, and like—I don’t think he wanted me to see him, because he got mad at me for staring, and _then,_ he got all mad at Horace for looking like he knew something about it.”

“You think he does?” asked Jay, tilting his head in thought. “I mean, Ace ain’t so tough. I could get him alone, make him tell me—”

Carlos shook his head, even chuckling a bit, to Jay’s surprise.

“What, did he crack ‘cause you asked him to?”

“No, but…” Carlos dug into his pants pocket and produced a small scrap of fabric, which he unrolled to show Jay a clump of matted silver fur. “I found this on their clothes when I was doing the laundry.”

Jay peered at the clump of fur. _It seemed real, but…_

“It’s been dyed,” said Carlos, seeing the look on Jay’s face, like he didn’t want to be the one to point out that Beelzebub’s fur had been black as pitch. “Mim, y’know, she sells that sticky chalk stuff in all the colours? Here, feel it—” He pressed the fur into Jay’s palm.

Jay made a face as he rubbed his thumb into the fur. He was familiar with the sticky texture from running his hands through the coloured tresses of a few girls he’d lifted necklaces off of in the last month. “Yeah, does feel like it,” he admitted, offering the fur back to Carlos.

Carlos took it with a sigh. “Gross, huh? I tried to wash it out, but the stuff’s like glue.” He pocketed the clump of fur, and glanced up to see Jay staring at him. “What?”

“Nothing, just waiting for you to finish.”

“I’m, uh… that’s it?” replied Carlos, playing the part of the fool with wide, innocent brown eyes and a quivering lilt of confusion in his voice.

Jay placed a hand flat on Carlos’ head and leaned in until they were at eye level, almost nose-to-nose. “Carlos,” he said seriously, “you need to tell me what this has to do with Ratigan and his boys.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anyway, I wanted to ramble briefly about this chapter because, as I mentioned, I'm fond of how it turned out. When I started writing it, I was hesitant to have the setting be not only visually-limited, but also quiet to the point where the boys wouldn't have any real dialogue for like half the chapter. I don't know, I was surprised how much I enjoyed writing it. I realize it's not everyone's cup of tea and it might seem an odd choice for something tagged action/adventure, but yeah! Fun chap for me. I hope you all enjoyed it, too! Thank you for reading! Kudos and comments would be greatly appreciated. <3
> 
>  **Trigger Warnings (chapter-specific):** Implied anxiety disorder/symptoms (Carlos), implications of possible paranoia/hallucinations (very minor, but be careful if you're sensitive to anything of that nature), non-explicit references to child abuse/neglect, and minor implications of possible animal abuse (end scene only, nothing graphic or definite).


	3. Watching You Without Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Note: This chapter was originally published yesterday (Jan 22), but it's been re-uploaded because I made some significant changes/additions (primarily in the first half). Mostlyyy I just edited the narrative flow because I'm a goddamn perfectionist and I wasn't 300% satisfied with the first draft after reading through it. Sorry for any confusion! This chap was tricky to get right with the flashback part, since I didn't want to do it as an italics-dump.**
> 
> **If you already read the first published version, it's not necessary to re-read this chap (unless you want to). If anything, maybe just skim the dialogue in the first half since there are some changes/additions that could affect your understanding of the story. :)**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I return with The Longest Chapter So Far because damn, y’all in the comments section deserve the world (but since it's not mine to give, pls accept this chapter instead). Seriously, the response to this story has had me smiling like an idiot all week, so thank you for that! It means more to me than I can say.
> 
> Just yeahhh, I’ve been having such a good time writing this thing that I’ve decided to let myself go wild and start weaving in sub-plots that will take this story further than what I had originally conceptualized. By the way! This chapter's title is taken from a Kate Bush song that's really pretty but has nooothing to do with this chap. I mean, unless you want to interpret it... very loosely, I guess? (If you are at all familiar with the song lyrics, you will know why I say this.)
> 
> If you want chap-specific trigger warnings (spoilers tho), please check the end notes! Enjoy? <3

Carlos had been reluctant to admit the full story.

It’d come out in bits and pieces (sometimes tangled, but always honest). He frequented Goblin Wharf, same as anyone else on the Isle, so it wasn’t too strange that’s where it started, where he’d been when he heard that familiar voice from the blue, as he was working—

“Afternoon, man. I’m here representin’ Mizz De Vil.”

It was Jasper’s voice. (Unmistakable). He’d addressed a man in a mask and black leather vest—a thick, slouching figure in the shadow of a tied-off ship. The man gave Jasper a once-over and nodded curtly, pointing him to the door of a warehouse on the edge of the docks.

Carlos kept his head down, his hands on the engine of a rickety skiff he was fixing for the goblins. Nearby, a few of them had fallen into gossip. They favoured the goblin-tongue for it, usually, but when they _meant_ to be heard, they would raise their voices some and slip into English.

“—don’t trust he’d hold a deal up with them arms,” one of the goblins was saying with a raspy chuckle, shooting Carlos a sideways glance that he pretended not to notice.

“Bones good for straws and knitting,” another goblin agreed, earning themselves a long, strange look from the other goblins. “Eh, I knit! Get off it!”

Carlos kept working until a shadow fell over him. He looked up to see one of the goblins on the dock railing, rocking back and forth on their heels, smiling slyly down at him. “D’you even know her business? She tell ya?”

“Who’s she? And tell me what?”

The goblin just laughed, leaving bits of yellow-green spittle on Carlos’ face. “Back to work,” the goblin said dismissively, turning to leave without another word.

Carlos took to watching the warehouse, studying the patterns of movement around the building. He wasn’t sure what first drew his eye to the rats—maybe just the way they kept appearing in the open, looking brazen in the daylight; though, just as likely, it was the fact that certain rats wore clothing.

At one point, a passing goblin not-so-accidentally stomped down on one of the clothed rats’ tails. The large brown rat—a sizeable 10-inches in length—reared up on its hind legs, full of protest and disdain. The goblin just as quickly bent to confront the rodent, their posture mocking and vicious.

The rat’s voice was small and shrill, its words unable to be made out across the distance, but as for the goblin— “What, he gonna feed me to his darlin’ hell cat, huh? She off her hunger strike? _You_ look a morsel, yourself!”

The rusty screwdriver Carlos had been holding slipped out from his fingers. It clattered over the edge of the skiff and disappeared with a _plop_ into the crocodile-infested waters. He didn’t care, didn’t make any move to grab for it—barely even registered the goblin who’d seen it happen and began snapping off insults at him.

_It wasn’t much to go on. It really, really wasn’t; and yet—_

Next he knew, Carlos was out of the skiff, the engine left open behind him, its parts all scattered about, tools not put away. _He didn’t care._ He tromped down the docks with his eyes transfixed on the door of the warehouse.

He had _a feeling_ about it more than a thought—a feeling that he knew exactly what was in there, just behind the door that Jasper had passed through—

The door that opened to reveal _nothing._

_(Hearing this, Jay raised an eyebrow. He muttered something about an “anti-climb,” to which Carlos rolled his eyes and retorted, “You mean ‘anti-climax’? Yeah, no, it’s not. Shut up and let me finish.”)_

“HEY! KID!” Carlos heard the deep, booming voice behind him right before a black-gloved hand fell heavily on his shoulder, keeping him in place. “You got business with Ratigan, you go through _me_ first! Who are you?!”

The long and short of it was Carlos hadn’t answered.

He kicked back like a mule in a panic, catching the man in the knee, then bolted into the warehouse, not entirely sure what he was planning to do if he ran into Jasper or even Ratigan himself. _There wasn’t time to think. He just had to react._

Carlos heard the man gaining on him, so he leapt up to seize the end of a thick, low-hanging rope that was tied to the rafters above. He used his momentum to swing forward, then double back on his pursuer, landing a hard kick to his ribs.

It didn’t keep the man down for long.

Still, it was enough time for Carlos to assess his surroundings at a glance. He took in the stained and scratched-up concrete floor, the scattered clumps of mouldy hay, and a set of large wooden crates with lids ajar, pushed up against the walls. He noticed, too, there were more ropes of various lengths (some with mean-looking hooks at their ends). Nothing really odd for a warehouse. Nothing that screamed… _evil lair._

Beyond all that, on the other side, there were two sliding metal doors, pushed slightly apart to show a glimpse of a backstreet.

Carlos made for the exit like a prized racehorse, not stopping until he reached it to find that the opening wasn’t quite enough to squeeze through, even as small as he was.

He grit his teeth and shoved at the doors with a shoulder against one side and a foot against the other, wincing at the shriek of metal in his ears that announced their compliance. He stumbled through into the grey daylight on the other side just as soon as he was able to fit himself.

Not a second to spare, because a loud bang on the metal marked the impact of Carlos’ pursuer slamming up against the doors. The man was hollering for him to stop as he tried in vain to wedge his bulkier frame through the existing gap.

Carlos, of course, didn’t stop or even falter. He ran to the end of the backstreet so quickly that he almost collided with the man who appeared around the corner in the same moment.

A man with an identical mask and a near-identical outfit, but no reason to stop Carlos from pushing past him, until—

“What are you doing?! He’s getting away!”

The newcomer whirled to see Carlos in the middle of the main street, dodging rickshaws and irritable passers-by, who raised their voices in complaint at the sudden commotion.

Carlos disappeared down an alley soon after. He took refuge behind a heap of trash bags that stunk like sickness and decay. He hid there only as long as he could stand it, which wasn’t long—the Isle might be filthy all over, but he knew better than to linger in any place that smelled so much of death.

His second hiding spot was an empty barrel with a trace scent of moonshine. The bung had been pushed out from its hole, so he was able to watch and listen through it.

When Jasper appeared across the street, Carlos stilled. He noted, curiously, that the man appeared to be talking to himself as he strolled along; he was even chuckling and gesturing animatedly, his dark eyes constantly rolling up toward his hat.

It didn’t make sense—(Jasper didn’t usually talk to himself)—until Carlos saw the swish of a pale pink tail in contrast with the man’s hair. He squinted uncertainly at the sight, but sure enough, there was a rat tail hanging out from under the rim of Jasper’s hat.

Carlos decided right then to distance himself from the wharf. He had seen enough to know _something_ was up. He’d have to puzzle through it later, when he was back on Mal’s turf.

He slipped out from the barrel and took off running.

But he didn’t make it back to Mal’s turf—or even more than a couple blocks—before one of the masked men spotted him and gave chase.

Carlos was driven blind through the streets with only the slightest advantage of speed and size, which meant he could duck in and under things that his pursuers couldn’t.

This advantage meant he was able to slip unseen into the hay beneath the tarp of an apple cart. It was a good hiding spot, since the day’s apples had already been sold at (or stolen from) the morning market. He didn’t think anyone would disturb him, as such. He could stay there and wait for night to fall, when he’d have better cover to sneak away.

Carlos might have dozed off in the hay, if only for a few minutes, because next he knew, there were voices rousing him.

“—looking for someone,” a woman was saying as she passed near the cart, her footsteps echoed by another set and the distinct tap of a cane. “Lotsa rumours circling them lately, huh?”

Carlos kept still and held his breath, frowning a little as he listened to what he could of the conversation: “Damn rats are just putting on a show, trying to scare us,” a man replied to the woman, his voice weathered and raspy. “Ratigan comes near me and I’ll show him what’s to fear. My boot!”

The pair laughed raucously as their voices grew more distant. The last Carlos heard one of them say sent a chill through him that he couldn’t shake: “Might be that rat’s got more balls than we think, though. Ain’t a furred thing that makes a deal with De Vil and isn’t straight outta hell itself, right?”

* * *

“And you know the rest,” Carlos had said as he finished the story. He watched Jay for his reaction (but there wasn’t one, really). Jay’s face was blank as he turned his back on Carlos and moved to the edge of the rooftop with purpose.

It’d been quiet between them for the last several minutes.

Jay had been staring intensely at the distant lights of Goblin Wharf, where the pirates claimed turf by night. He’d been staring like he might find the words he needed, spelled out for him; though, maybe it was more that he felt he needed the time to think—to temper his reaction. He didn’t want to snap at Carlos.

Eventually, Jay heard a sigh and a slight scuffle of shoes in the gravel from somewhere behind him. He didn’t have to turn and look to know that Carlos must be getting restless, thinking about getting home before curfew.

Had the hour gone and past already? _Probably,_ Jay thought.

Time on the Isle had little meaning, since most folks preferred not to dwell on the length of their misery. Jay, for one, might steal a watch now and then, wear it around for a bit, and ensure that he was always _exactly_ 15 minutes late to all occasions for the hell of it; but eventually, he’d pawn the thing for something more useful, like spiced cider or slop.

The gravel crunched again. Carlos exhaled, sounding like he was about to speak, and then just… nothing.

Jay took a deep, calming breath before turning around. He saw Carlos flinch back slightly, despite that Jay had purposefully crossed his arms tight to avoid giving any impression he meant to strike out in anger.

Jay sighed. “You’re the worst,” he said flatly, not meaning a word of it even in the darkest parts of his soul. “You could’ve come and found me, y’know. Hell, you could have told me about the other night, like… I don’t know, _yesterday?”_

Carlos nodded at that, chewing on his lip. “I know.”

“But you figured, what?” said Jay, narrowing his eyes. “Worst thing that happens is you’re served up as a side of ribs, huh? Maybe the rats get a few bites in first?”

“Jay, come on…” Carlos sighed, raising his hands in a placating gesture. (He wasn’t sorry for what had happened. Not really.) “What do you want me to say? It’s not like I planned it. I wasn’t thinking, and yeah, things got out of control. I just…” He shook his head.

Jay stared at him a long moment, then broke off with a noise that sounded suspiciously distressed as he ran both his hands through his hair. “We’re gonna have to tell Mal about this—first thing tomorrow. She’s gonna kill us both, but... fuck, if it’s not just talk about Ratigan and your mom, and he _saw_ you today? Yeah. Yeah, we have to.”

Carlos stared at him, unblinking. “W-we?” he asked, almost inaudible. Jay huffed a little and glanced away, but nodded.

“I thought…” Carlos trailed off, rubbing at his arm. He smiled a little sheepishly as he added, “I, uh, thought you were mad.”

“Oh, I’m pissed,” Jay said immediately, with a petulant kick at a patch of gravel. He winced in regret as a sharp piece went astray, nicking Carlos’ exposed shin to draw blood from a recent scab.

“Shit.” Jay took a hesitant step, his expression softer than before. “Shit,” he said again. “Cee, I didn’t mean…”

“I know,” Carlos assured him. “It’s no big. Seriously.”

Jay hesitated, though there wasn’t anything in Carlos’ face to contradict the words. His gaze fell to his shoes, but he nodded.

There was an awkward silence.

“So, um…” Carlos chuckled nervously, scratching at the back of his neck. “Fifty bucks says my mom kills me before Mal gets the chance.”

* * *

An hour later, Cruella stood against the doorframe in the front entrance to Hell Hall with a long-handled cigarette dangling from her fingers. She was listening to Jay babble with the barest of interest, not bothering to commit half of what he’d said so far to memory.

“—and may I just say, Ms. De Vil, you looked _particularly_ stunning in that lynx coat last week. Was it custom made? I don’t mean to insult you by asking! It’s just, your wardrobe seems to have that special touch. It’s… so much more _accomplished_ than anyone else’s on the Isle.”

Cruella’s eyes narrowed, and Jay sighed internally. He had to change tactics. Evie’s mother might be weak in the knees for compliments, but not this hag. She didn’t chase validation— only her suspicions that Jay was trying to charm the fur off her back (and nothing, _nothing_ mattered more than her furs).

“I know what you’re thinking,” Jay continued. “What sort of business could a humble merchant’s son like myself possibly have here? What could I tempt of a woman of _your_ class to purchase? Well, I’m glad you asked!”

Cruella exhaled loudly, and a grey-green cloud of smoke drifted out from between her lips. Jay paused and cleared his throat slightly as the smoke dispersed around his head. He bared his teeth at her in a stubborn grin before continuing.

“Ms. De Vil, I think you should know—“ (She arched an eyebrow at him as his voice lowered and his tone became suddenly conspiratorial.) “—someone on the Isle has hired my father and I as consignors for what they swear to be a certified, mint condition De Vil line _original…”_

Hearing this, Cruella bit down on the tip of her cigarette holder, staring intensely. “One of mine? One of my _firstborn?”_ Her mouth fell slightly agape as she considered it. “No, but they were all destroyed. That miserable Beast, he _swore_ —”

“I’ve seen it,” Jay insisted, lying through his teeth. “I’m no expert, but it looked like your tag on it, so—”

“Who? _Who’s_ had it?!” Cruella hissed, tossing her cigarette aside to try and seize Jay by a fistful of fabric. He stepped back a long stride, before she could snag him. His gut twisted with loathing as he imagined Carlos standing in his place.

Still, he maintained a bright smile. _He had to do this._

“I can’t disclose that,” Jay replied, his cheerful tone never faltering, “but if you wanted to put a down payment of—”

“Yes,” said Cruella, her volume increasing as she leered at him: _“Yes!_ YES. Whatever you want for it, you wretched boy.” She dug beneath her bra band to retrieve a bundle of sweat-stained bills, all the while gazing heatedly at Jay, like he might insist on leaving without the money.

Jay’s smile faltered only slightly when the bills were passed to him. He sifted through them with a ginger touch, trying not to dwell on their stink and dampness. _Money was money._

Cruella watched him count the bills like a starved wolf, practically drooling at the thought of reclaiming a significant staple of her old life, her old _status_ —

Jay clicked his tongue a bit in a show of disappointment, and Cruella began to stew in her heels. “What is it?” she hissed, her eyes half-bulging from the swell of her impatience. “I said, _what is it,_ boy? Are you mute?! Spit it out! NOW.”

“Oh—no, it’s just…” Jay shifted, looking slightly sympathetic and like he might return the wad of bills to her. “I think Lady Tremaine’s gold may interest my father more. I can’t guarantee you, with only this to show, that—”

“It’s _mine,”_ Cruella stated, her voice icy and her eyes smouldering. “You will tell Jafar… _it’s mine_.” She retrieved a thin bar of gold from somewhere in the nest of her hair and pushed it firmly into his chest. The metal felt warm against his skin when he took it in hand, curling a fist around it.

“As you wish.” Jay folded his arms behind his back and bowed low to her—low enough that his long, dark hair spilled forward to drag across her scuffed red heels.

In the very moment of that grand gesture, they both attuned to the sound of a metallic clang and a quiet curse from the room adjoining the entrance hall. Cruella’s attention turned as quickly as if her neck had been snapped. “Who’s there?!”

Jay straightened up, risking a glance inside to see Carlos shuffling into view. He felt relieved, though he knew not to show it on his face. _Their plan had worked. So far, so good._

Carlos had snuck in through the back of the house while Jay was chatting up Cruella. He’d ditched his jacket and boots for rumpled work clothes. He was barefoot now, and wearing a pair of too-large dishwashing gloves, underneath which his knuckles were probably white from how hard he was clinging to the handle of a large metal bucket full of soapy water. Some of the suds had gotten into his hair, making his head of curls look like a mop.

_“Carlos,”_ hissed Cruella, dragging out the “s” with venom. “Where have you been hiding, mutt? I called for you earlier.” Her eyes dragged over him critically, taking in the slow-blooming purple bruises that had been inflicted on him several hours ago by the broom-wielding merchant.

“I was cleaning in the basement,” said Carlos, knowing how rarely his mother went down there. (She _hated_ the basement.) He reached into the bucket to show her a dirty sponge, but kept his eyes trained on the floor, careful to pretend like he wasn’t aware of Jay standing in the doorway.

Cruella’s lip curled in suspicion. “I called for you,” she repeated after a moment. “Why didn’t you come?”

“Sorry, Mama,” said Carlos, glancing up at her through his soapy bangs. “I didn’t hear you.” His cheeks were a little flushed, but only because he could feel Jay’s eyes on him— witness to how truly weak he was beneath his mother’s heel.

Cruella was staring quietly, her face dangerously neutral. The silence in the room dragged out to an agonizing crescendo.

Jay felt, at once, that he should leave immediately and that he should refuse _not_ to stay, if he was asked to go. He hovered at the threshold of Hell Hall, feeling tense and conflicted.

The silence shattered like glass with a single word.

_“Down,”_ Cruella said crisply, her lips closing into a thin white line. Her eyes were still on Carlos, but Jay didn’t immediately process that. He moved slightly back, his heel half-suspended in the air above the first step down.

Carlos, for his part, hadn’t seemed to react at all.

“I said _down!”_ Cruella screeched at him, twisting her body away from the open door to take a menacing step in his direction.

Just one click of her heel on the tiles, and Carlos almost dropped the bucket in his haste to comply. He kept it from tipping, but some of the sudsy brown water still sloshed over his feet and the grimy floor.

Jay gripped the gold bar in his hand so tightly that his palm would be marked by it later. He felt a surge of anger, watching Carlos drop to his knees and lean forward onto his hands in deference to his mother.

Cruella was smiling when she glanced over her shoulder at Jay, who tried desperately not to grimace as he returned the smile with a brittle air of detachment.

“Still here?” asked Cruella, like she hadn’t expected it.

Jay swallowed down a rush of bile before replying, “I was just leaving.” He nodded to her, then turned on his heel with a quick and careless, “Night, Ms. De Vil.”

The door slammed shut on his heels.

He paused mid-step as Cruella began to screech, the reverberations of her wrath easily felt through the thin, mouldering walls of the once-grand manor.

His teeth clenched at the sharp sound of metal striking tile, not surprised when a stream of brown, sudsy water trailed down the steps, past his feet, a few seconds later.

The manor grounds fell eerily silent after that.

Jay closed his eyes, inhaled so deeply that the air burned his lungs, and forced himself to leave across the scraggly mud-pit of a yard, through the rusty iron gates, and then out into the lonely, dirt-packed street.

He stopped there on the fringes of Hell Hall, mere paces from Castle-Across-The-Way, which stood proud as a thing of tragic beauty. He could sense a presence in it—not threatening, but familiar. _Someone watching._

He looked up into one of the candle-lit tower windows, where the silhouette of Evie was plain to see. Her face was wholly shadowed, but the light behind her affected something of a blue halo around the crown of her head.

Smiling, though unsure if she could see it, Jay raised a hand in silent greeting. He saw her hesitate, glancing aside at something (or someone). _Her mother, probably._

Evie then leaned out the window slightly as if only to grab at the shutters. She waved to him quickly, then withdrew behind the closing shutters. He didn’t see another sign of her (or any life at all) in the time it took for him to pass the castle grounds and continue on his way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thank you for reading, commenting, kudos, all of it. Much love. <3
> 
> **Trigger Warnings (chapter-specific):** minor blood/injury mentions (not graphic), light swearing, very subtle implication of underage drinking (blink and you'll miss it), domestic/child abuse (in the second part, after Carlos appears again; it's not physical, per se, but definitely verbal/emotional and also ft. humiliation as punishment), and lastly, implications of _desire_ to harm/kill animals (no actual harm depicted; no graphic descriptions).


	4. Your World In My Eyes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> While writing this chapter, I was attacked in my own home by an unreasonably large spider that appeared on my couch, probably as divine punishment for putting Carlos through so much shit. This chapter isn’t all Bad Times though. There is a scene in here where I could not fucking stop laughing as I wrote it. It Had To Be Done.
> 
> Okay, but on a more serious ~~personal~~ note, I’ve been reading through some thoughtful fandom discussions this past week re: Carlos as a queer-coded character. It’s something I noticed and adored about him immediately _in spite_ of Disney trying to bury it alive. And you know what? Fuck it! I'm mad about it. Young adults deserve open, positive queer representation. The last thing I want to do is take away from that by letting my baggage from Closet Living project onto this fic in a way that suggests Jaylos or Malvie shouldn't have been canon. So, while this story may have a pre-romantic focus and a lot of room for queer-platonic interpretation between the Core Four, let me just emphasize: we're all queer here. ~~Except for Cruella, who is straight... from hell.~~ My tags will be updated accordingly. Thanks for coming to my TED talk haha. Please enjoy this chap. <3

It seemed an eternity later that Carlos stumbled into his mother’s closet. She had been asleep for a while, so he closed the door behind him as quietly as he could. He then paused and leaned back slightly, realizing the closet light was already on. He frowned at that. He’d turned it off when he snuck in earlier, to change out of his street clothes, so…

His eyes flicked to the floor, where several of his mother’s bear traps had been rearranged. Nearest to the door, a wire hanger was caught in the jaws of a closed trap. He figured she must have been pushing the traps around with the hanger. _Shame it wasn’t her hand caught in there for the trouble,_ he thought bitterly.

There was no room for guilt in his mind, thinking things like that about his mother. He could want for her love, her affection, her mere _approval,_ while still harbouring hatred for the fact that all those things would never be given to him.

Carlos sighed, stepping carefully around the traps. He’d have to commit the new pattern to memory later. It was dangerous not to know it. He didn’t always have the luxury of light.

Finally, having passed through the maze of traps, he sunk down into the small, lumpy grey mattress he called a bed. It wasn’t much, but the sight of the down pillow Evie had given him years ago was a comfort, at least. (He figured his mother had never realized it was a gift or she would have destroyed it without a second thought.)

Closing his eyes, Carlos rolled onto his back and listened to the faint rattling hum of the exposed bulb above him. He didn’t usually like the way it sounded in the quiet—like the thing was overwhelmed with power, about to shatter at any moment. He sometimes had nightmares about waking up with glass in his eyes, unable to see, trying to find his way through the closet, stepping in trap after trap—

He clenched his fists against the anxious turn of his thoughts, only to wince regretfully at the pain that flared in his hands.

He’d spent hours scrubbing the floor of the entrance hall. The same spots, the same tiles—new filth, as punishment. He had scrubbed until his gloves were torn-up from the steel wool. He had scrubbed until the steel wool had partly embedded into his palms, leaving his skin raw and burning in several places.

The whole time, Carlos had been looking over his shoulder, half-expecting to see the door still open—to see Jay standing there on the porch with his dark eyes full of emotion, his lips twisted up like snakes, his teeth clenched against admitting his pity, disgust, _revulsion_ —

_NO._

Carlos surprised himself with how violently that word came into his mind, interrupting the narration of his memories in a voice that suddenly sounded more like _his own._

He hadn’t realized his mother’s voice had gotten so loud.

He also hadn’t realized that he was shaking.

 _Right, but of course—his clothes were damp._ “Gotta change,” he mumbled to himself, like saying it aloud might give him the energy to actually sit up and do it. He lay there another minute, wondering if it was honestly worth the trouble.

It was hours ago now that Cruella had slammed the door on Jay’s heels, then drenched Carlos with the bucket of soapy water that he was all-too-glad he hadn’t heated in the fire.

 _Had he been shaking since then, or cold that long?_ He didn’t know. He felt numb, thinking about it; but still, the primal part of him that craved warmth had him reaching for the cardboard box at the foot of his mattress.

Carlos didn’t keep much in the box besides his oldest and least favourite clothes. He didn’t dare to store Evie’s delicate creations in the open, where his mother might make rags of them on a whim. (His street clothes from earlier had been tucked into a hole beneath a loose plank of wood, which he kept concealed by his mattress.)

He grit his teeth in discomfort as he tugged a patchy black sweater out of the box, then more gingerly pinched out a pair of white cotton shorts. He took a breath before reaching for the hem of his damp shirt, peeling it up over his chest with a soft hiss of pain.

Isle-brand soap was harsh, often laced with chemical cleaners that gave it an acidic quality despite being diluted with water. The residue on his clothing, however much he tried to avoid it, made his wounds foam and bubble on contact. It almost felt worse than earlier, now that he could think of nothing else.

When the effort was done, he lay back down in warm, dry clothes, and didn’t so much as bother to pull his thin sheet up over his body.

He closed his eyes. He was asleep in minutes.

* * *

_“Carlosss…”_

The voice was quiet, shrill, and underlaid by chittering.

He didn’t recognize the voice. It sounded vaguely masculine, but not like Jasper or Horace. Where was he, anyway? Had he fallen asleep somewhere in the streets? _Hard to remember._

His eyes opened slowly.

It was dark, and he felt like he’d been sleeping for only a few minutes—just long enough to slip into the haze that promised _real_ sleep. He frowned as he started to think on it. _Hadn’t he fallen asleep in his bed? Hadn’t the closet light been on?_

Carlos blinked, looking around, letting his eyes adjust to the darkness. He was definitely in the closet. He could see the thick, looming shapes of his mother’s furs, all fluffed and— _moving?_

No, no. That was a fear that died in childhood.

_These weren’t animals anymore. These were just… skins._

He wasn’t scared. He closed his eyes again.

But someone was laughing.

Their teeth were clicking together like the sound made by the rusty typewriter up in his treehouse. It was a small but grating sound if you focused too hard on it. He tried to push it away, but he couldn’t. The sound seemed to multiply with every passing moment until he thought his head might pop.

It stopped suddenly when he opened his eyes.

_The eyes around him were all open, too._

* * *

Carlos rolled off his mattress in a cold sweat, pressing his palms flat to the ground just to feel the burn of his wounds—anything to ground himself.

The wretched bulb was humming overhead, shedding light on his panic, so he had to be awake this time. _He had to be._

“Just a stupid dream,” he breathed out shakily.

(And he believed that, mostly—if not right away.)

Slowly, Carlos raised his head to look around at his mother’s furs on the surrounding racks. They were cold and dead as ever, just the way she liked them (made in her image).

He took a deep breath, nodding to himself.

_Alright, yeah, just a dream. Anxiety’s a bitch._

That was when he noticed the slip of pink paper beneath the closet door—not the end he’d entered through to go to bed, but the end that connected directly to his mother’s bedroom.

 _Had he woken her?_ It wasn’t like Cruella to complain quietly when that happened, which made the note feel somehow more ominous.

Carlos moved to the door on his hands and knees, ignoring the pain in his palms. When he was close enough, he took the note and sat up with his legs folded beneath him.

_“GONE TO SPA. STAY & WATCH THE BABIES.”_

_So, it must be morning,_ Carlos thought to himself. Had he overslept somehow? His mother usually made such a racket on her way out the door, and he was a light sleeper.

It was strange, but at least he knew his mother was gone. He wouldn’t see her for at least a few days if she’d gone to the spa; and with any luck, Evie’s mother would have gone with her, which meant they could _both_ breathe a little easier.

It also meant less trouble getting the gang together.

He stood up, letting the note flutter to the ground, and reached for the door handle. It didn’t turn immediately—or at all, when he put a little more effort into it.

That in itself wasn’t reason to panic. His mother would sometimes lock up her bedroom when she was away, not wanting him or anyone else getting into her possessions.

Carlos glanced through to the other end of the closet, and tentatively moved toward the traps, heading for the other door. He didn’t know what time it was, but the faint ache in his stomach suggested it was about time for a meal, anyway.

He grabbed the door handle and made to open it.

When it didn’t budge, he gripped the handle a little tighter, trying to force it. _Still nothing_ —not even when he began to jiggle the handle with more and more aggression, rattling the door on its hinges.

His mother’s note flashed in his mind, her hideous scrawl all smudged and mocking: _Gone to the spa. Stay and watch the babies. STAY AND WATCH THE BABIES. THE BABIES._

“Her fucking furs,” Carlos hissed to himself, kicking at the door in a rare display of temper. He wasn’t usually so bold, but it’s not like his mother was around to punish him for it.

Cruella really meant for him to just… stay there, in the closet, staring at her furs for days like _he_ had as little life left in him? _Absolutely not,_ he thought to himself, enraged.

It was a good thing Jay had taught him to pick a lock.

* * *

“I’m worried,” said Evie, wringing her hands in her lap.

Mal, who was draped across the beat-up red couch on the other side of the room, opened one eye to look at Evie. “He’s got chores or whatever. It’s barely afternoon. He’ll come.”

Evie glanced to Jay, seeing that he was still pacing from one end of the hideout to the other, a deep frown on his face. “Jay, didn’t you say it was important?” she asked.

Jay paused. “Yeah,” he said quietly, folding his arms, “but then again, I don’t think he was looking forward to this.” His eyes flickered pointedly to Mal, and she scoffed.

“What, like I bite?”

Evie smiled a bit. “You did once, when we were kids.”

Mal looked indignant. _“He_ bit _me_ first,” she grumbled, sitting up on the couch. “I was just responding in a language he understood.”

“Very mature,” Evie teased, dodging the threadbare pillow that promptly thrown at her head. “Proving my point, Em.”

Mal made to reply, but the words never came. Her head inclined towards Jay, who was starting for the door. “Hey, asshole, where you going? You can’t just leave.”

Jay seemed to bristle at that. “I’m _going_ to find Carlos.”

“Hey, wait!” said Evie, scrambling to her feet as Jay was about to grab the doorknob. “If you’re going, I’m coming with you.” She raised an expectant eyebrow in Mal’s direction, and added with the barest hint of a threat, “It’s better than just sitting around here, isn’t it?”

Mal grunted in response, even as she reached for the coat she’d thrown over the back of the couch. “Fine, we’ll _all_ go,” she said, taking long strides toward the door, “but if he’s elbow-deep in a toilet or something, _you_ two can help him finish. I’m not lifting a finger, got it?”

Rolling her eyes with utmost affection, Evie curled an arm around Mal’s waist as she passed, and they both followed Jay out the door without another word between them.

* * *

Outside the gates of Hell Hall, Mal hesitated. “You’re sure the old bat’s not here?” She glanced at Evie, who nodded. “And what about her favourite pair of idiots? They around?”

“Jasper stopped by earlier to get my mom,” said Evie. “It looked like he was driving them both to the spa.” She paused, tapping her chin. “I don’t really know about Horace…”

Jay wrapped his hands around the rusty iron bars, ready to scale the height of the gate. “We’re good,” he told them, finding a foothold to pull himself up. “Horace is probably off somewhere with Jace and Harry.” He arced his body over and across the gate’s speared railing in a quick, fluid motion, landing in a crouch on the other side. “Cee’s told me he doesn’t see Ace much when the hag’s not in town. I guess the place gives him the creeps or something…”

“Can’t imagine why,” Mal snorted, ducking through the massive chain that held the gate doors together. The gap between was just enough to permit her entry. She glanced behind to see Evie following her lead, looking disgruntled over the flakes of rust that were catching on her dress.

As Evie dusted herself off, Mal looked across the yard to the manor with its dark, dirty windows and clumps of dead ivy. It seemed like the plants grew in thickness every time she saw the place, and yet, they were dead as ever.

“Right, well, lead the way,” Mal said to Jay, casting him a sidelong glance. “This is _your_ rescue party.”

Jay cuffed her on the shoulder, but started forward all the same. “Let’s go around the back, just in case.”

They crept through the shrubs, skirting around the side of the manor. Evie’s steps were delicate. She might have been born of the Isle, but she refused to ever get _used_ to it. No matter what anyone said, it wasn’t a prison. She didn’t accept that.

“Ugh,” said Mal, raising her boot to show a pile of half-dried feces attached to the heel. “Evil, I _hate_ this place.”

Jay stooped and grabbed her ankle before she could set her foot back down, causing Mal to flail and smack him on the head. _“Ow,”_ he complained, frowning up at her.

“Yeah, hi, _trying_ to hurt you,” Mal snapped. “What the fuck are you doing right now?”

Jay’s eyes flicked over the soiled boot before he answered. “Cat shit,” he replied vaguely. “Guess Cee was right…”

Evie made a noise that sounded something like a squeak. Her face was turned away, her cheeks a little green. _“Jay_ ,” she complained, sounding scandalized.

“I’m with Blue on this,” said Mal, taking a few steps back from Jay as soon as he released her foot. Her eyebrows were raised up into her hairline. “So, again—what the fuck?”

Jay rolled his eyes at them. “Cee thinks his cat is back.”

“Like, from the dead?” asked Mal, looking skeptical.

“No, dumbass, like from—no, you know what, never mind. I’ll let him tell you.” Jay turned back around, winding through the shrubs on the side of the manor. Evie and Mal exchanged a confused glance before setting after him.

They arrived in the backyard without having heard so much as a creak or a whisper from inside the manor. Evie had stolen a peek through a few of the windows on their way, but there was nothing to see. It was dead quiet.

“Maybe he’s in the treehouse,” Mal whispered, casting a glance over her shoulder through the window Jay had wedged open for them to get inside. “We should have checked there first.” (She wasn’t going to admit that she simply didn’t want anything to do with the inside of Hell Hall—I mean, not that anyone _did_.)

Evie shook her head, climbing down from the countertop with a little assistance from Jay. “No, he wouldn’t be there,” she whispered back. “Not when there’s still chores to do.” She nodded her head toward the sink full of dishes.

Jay hummed in agreement, frowning at the dark, dirty kitchen where they were now standing. “Something’s up,” he said lowly. “Let’s… check the basement.”

“You don’t think—?” asked Evie, her breath hitching.

Jay felt her hand on his arm, as gentle as a sparrow, and he tried to smile at her when their eyes met. “He’s okay, Eves.”

“Yeah,” said Evie softly, squeezing his arm. “Yeah.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~~Somewhere in the middle of writing this chap, I got that one Anastasia song stuck in my head. _”In the dark of the night, evil will fiiiiind youuuu…”_ What a jam. Never gets old tbh.~~
> 
> Cool, cool, anyway, I'll be taking off for the weekend to celebrate my birthday with my platonic soulmate so BRB with Chapter 5 probablyyyy mid-week because knowing me I will end up finishing the thing on the way to or from my destination. ~~All of my free time belongs to this story now and I’m not even mad about it.~~
> 
>  **Trigger Warnings (chap-specific):** Mildly graphic description of wounds in first part (might be squeaky for some people), heavy theme of child abuse throughout entire chapter (not physical or graphic, but emotionally/psychologically heavy), a bit of psychological horror, implied anxiety/panic attack symptoms, heavy references to dead animals (furs), and several instances of swearing.


	5. Anywhere But Here, Pt. 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AT LONG LAST, after rewriting this chapter no less than 10 times, I give you... something that I am very excited to share and which I hope you will all enjoy because, frankly, those of you who have been commenting on this fic have given me so much life. I just want to say...... in advance.... regarding this chapter....... 1) I'm Not Sorry and 2) It's Gonna Be Okay.
> 
> This chapter was brought to you by caffeine (thanks green tea), SEVERAL spooky instrumental soundtracks on loop, and my complete disregard for book!canon in terms of Hell Hall's layout. Mal and Evie are heavily featured (because it's what they deserve), and for anyone who was waiting for Malvie, that definitely begins here. Jaylos will continue to be my primary focus for this fic, _but_ I think Malvie will end up featured as more than just a "minor" pairing in the grand scheme of things, so I'm going to change the tags for them.
> 
> OH! **Very important note re: Mal in this chapter: I will be heavily referencing an ability of hers that isn't canon; rather, it's an extension of canon that I will explain in the end notes (if the narrative leaves you with any questions).**
> 
> Before scrolling down, I recommend setting the mood with a tense, bone-chilling instrumental soundtrack of your choice. Just saying. _I also strongly recommend that you check the end notes for detailed trigger warnings if you're at all nervous within the first few paragraphs._ If you've read this far, you should have a good sense of what to expect from my... darker scenes. I don't intend to write anything above a T rating, so keep that in mind.
> 
> Have funnnn... *ominous piano music*

The basement door was so severely warped by water damage, it looked to have been through a flood. The door’s original dark wood finish had been painted over several times, yet remained evident in places where the colour had stubbornly bubbled or else been torn up by frenzied claw-like marks, which could be traced across the walls from as far as where the kitchen met the hallway.

 _No surprise in that_ —

Jay, Mal, and Evie had seen it all before.

They knew Cruella, as an aging villain, liked to keep something of a “storied” home to help her reputation. This _particular_ story wasn’t one they knew the details of, but from the evidence, it would be apparent to anyone that no mere lamb had been dragged to slaughter.

The wall was ornamented by copper handprints, textured with bits of broken-off fingernails. There was damage where flailing limbs had made impact, and even scraps of clothing caught on shard-like pieces of plaster, which had been left in disrepair since the incident.

Jay shuddered to think that Carlos walked past this every day like it was nothing. He knew Carlos had a reputation for being callous, just for living here. He knew, too, that it was rumoured Carlos had inherited his mother’s “cutting edge” taste in fashion and home decor, _as if his own blood wasn’t part of her designs._

With teeth grit and a sense of unease, Jay forced himself a step closer to the basement door, unable to keep his mind from wandering on ahead of him.

He could see clearly (in his memories): the steep wooden stairwell and the stained concrete floors. He could _almost_ feel the dampness, the intensity of the windowless quiet—

_But there was no sign, no sight of Carlos._

_Only the evidence of horrors._

Evie saw that Jay’s movements had become stilted in a way that belied the usual fluidity of his stride. She could see that his stare was intent on the basement door, and she knew what he was thinking. “Jay,” she whispered, simultaneously glancing back to check on Mal, who had stopped short a few feet behind them. “Jay, hang on…”

Jay didn’t seem to hear her, with his mind elsewhere as it was. He’d pressed his ear up against the basement door, and stood listening. “Seems quiet,” he remarked, more to himself than anyone else. He only glanced at Evie when she shifted closer to him. “I’ll go down first, check it out,” he decided, already reaching for the doorknob. “You should stay up here, just in case—and uh, hold the door, okay?”

Jay didn’t wait for her response. He grasped the bone-cold brass in a stranglehold, giving the knob an experimental twist. It moved slightly left before the lock resisted him. He knew if he applied more strength, the rusty mechanism would break without him having to waste time picking it open.

_But would Cruella notice the damage? Would she punish—_

He nearly flinched when Evie’s hand alighted suddenly on his wrist, and she said softly, “I don’t think he’s down there.”

Jay looked up sharply, about to say something accusatory. His jaw clamped shut when he caught Evie’s head tilt, indicating Mal a short distance behind them. He raised an eyebrow, knowing Mal wasn’t one to hang back without a reason— _so, what exactly was she doing gazing up at the cracked, water-stained ceiling like it held a galaxy of stars?_

He puzzled over it as he watched Mal turn in a slow circle, her eyes seeming to track something invisible across the ceiling and upper walls, as if she could see right through to the second floor—to someone walking above them, maybe?

Mal _did_ have an uncanny way of sensing presence, in Jay’s experience—so much so that he had used her for “target practice” when they were kids. He liked that she wasn’t an easy mark, and Mal seemed to like that he was “stupid enough to try and steal from her,” because the second time he’d near-successfully snatched one of her bracelets, she had all but ordered him into an alliance with her.

(He’d agreed because he was bored and she amused him.)

Years later, and Jay still didn’t know what exactly Mal was doing right now. His money was on some kind of sixth sense—a bit of magic in her blood, despite the barrier. Evie disagreed, hypothesizing that Mal was just deeply in touch with her feelings, her intuition. _’Have you met her?’_ Jay had asked incredulously, narrowly avoiding a fly swatter.

They had asked Carlos for his opinion to settle the matter. He’d given them that certain secret smile of his; the one he gave when he knew something—had figured it out on his own and wasn’t interested in sharing. _‘I don’t know,’_ Carlos had said to them. ‘ _Why don’t you guys just ask her?’_

 _Because she’s never talked about it,_ thought Jay; and he knew what that meant. Mal was keeping an edge, a knife up her sleeve. _They only had to know it was there to fear it_ —

(Well, _fear_ might be a strong word for what they felt about it, but anyway—it was in the interest of everyone’s survival that they maintained Mal’s fearsome reputation, as well as her confidence in herself as their leader.)

“Hear that?” asked Mal in a low voice, sensing the attention on her even as she stood with her back turned. “Upstairs.”

Jay and Evie listened carefully, straining to hear beyond the expected ambience of the manor—the faint creaking and groaning of the old, weary walls; the drip of water from leaky copper pipes; the eerie, sing-song drafts that pushed through every hole and crack…

“I don’t—” Jay began to say in the same moment that Evie caught his eye to ask, “Do _you_ —” Their whispers collided, then faded out on their lips as they shook their heads in answer to each other, sharing a look of uncertainty.

_What did Mal hear that they didn’t—or couldn’t?_

Mal didn’t say.

She brushed past them as she made for the front of the manor with not so much as a glance at the basement door. Jay’s reluctance to follow was obvious from how his hand still lingered on the doorknob, so Evie fixed him with an imploring look. He wanted to sigh, but he only nodded, letting his fingers fall from the brass like autumn leaves.

Jay and Evie moved like shadows at Mal’s back—their footsteps as light as levitation, even with the fact of Evie’s heels. (She was as much a ghost in a pair of stilettos on cold marble as when barefoot on her bath rug.) They had both mastered the art of disappearing, per the training imposed by the parents since as long as they could remember.

_Mal could sense them only by the resonance of their movements—_

(But it wasn’t magic, no. It was an inborn gift. Not a skill she could brag to have _earned,_ but a talent unalienable from her mother’s blood. _“I suppose it’s something,”_ Maleficent had conceded when Mal first realized she was unique among her peers. _“There may be some dragon’s fire in you yet, my spark.”_ )

Mal swept into the entrance hall with a frown, coming to a stop at the base of the iron-railed split staircase that led up to the second floor of the manor and Cruella’s master suite. _Something’s different,_ she thought to herself, fixing her gaze on the wall above the central landing.

_Yes, there it was—the difference._

Cruella typically boasted her own importance to guests (uninvited or otherwise) with a massive, gold-framed portrait that hung intrusively above the central landing. The portrait depicted a smiling, eternally youthful Cruella in the artist’s Renaissance-style vision of her _more-than-slightly-exaggerated_ success as a villain, draped in furs.

This afternoon, the portrait was covered up by a tattered beige tarp, and only one of Cruella’s matte brown eyes was left to peer eerily down through a tear in the fabric.

“Home improvement,” Jay remarked in a hush, as if the painting might come alive for his impertinence. He was flanking Mal on her left, and when she turned to raise an eyebrow at him, he shrugged. “Am I wrong?”

Jay smiled humourlessly while Mal just rolled her eyes.

“Maybe ‘Los covered it up,” said Evie, because it was nice to pretend like there was any evidence for Carlos having swept through the manor that morning—some reason to believe that any moment now, he would come down the stairs to demand what they were doing in his house and if they could please just _get out_ or at least take their shoes off, because the last thing he wanted was more mopping.

“I don’t know…” Jay hummed thoughtfully, rocking back on his heels and stretching his neck out to an exaggerated degree as he eyed up the height of the frame. “I mean, he’d need a _hell_ of a ladder.”

Evie reached around Mal to swat at him. “So would _you_.”

Jay scoffed. “C’mon, Eves— _me?_ I could jump that high.”

There came a BANG from upstairs, louder than anything they had heard since entering the manor. Immediately, the mood sobered. They stood defensive, listening to a series of bangs that grew gradually more subdued—

Jay’s fists clenched, and Evie twisted to look at Mal with a question in her eyes. Mal hesitated, because the soft, familiar vocal vibrations that had drawn her to that point were gone, and although there was no indication of anyone else in the manor to that point, _what if—_

“Mal,” said Jay, his expression teetering on severity.

Mal straightened up, and her lips parted to answer, but then, she simply frowned. _It was there again. She could feel it_ —the tickle in her ears, the soft thrumming in her bone marrow.

She closed her eyes, wanting to listen.

She tried to ignore how she could practically hear Jay’s muscles constricting with tension and restlessness, tried to ignore the sound of Evie fidgeting with the hem of her dress.

_Mal wondered if they knew she was stalling._

It wasn’t conscious, at first, but arriving in the entrance hall, she had a feeling—no, she _knew_ where they were going to find Carlos. _She knew,_ and it made her wish she had sent Jay into the basement. _She knew_ —and by now, they probably suspected it; they were probably thinking the same as her.

_It was all a charade, this game of “follow the leader,” wasn’t it?_

Mal sighed internally, thinking on what her mother had told her about leadership, about power—

( _“People want to be led, Mal,”_ her mother would say. _“Make them believe in your power. Act like nothing is unknown to you! There is nothing you fear! You must... show—no—weakness.”)_

Mal began to ascend the staircase, her arms unfurling like wings to keep Jay and Evie behind her. She wasn’t going to explain herself, her reasons for having stalled—not even if they knew or might share in her secret reluctance.

It was better not to think anymore, but to act on instinct.

 _To let the dragon lead, to let her power show_ —

Mal angled decisively toward the right.

It wasn’t just that this side showed the most damage from scratches and scuffing—no, this side was where Mal felt the air to be most swollen with vocal resonance. She could feel it as thickly as the humidity in the summer months, when the build-up of heat beneath the barrier was smothering the Isle.

Mal slowed her stride across the central landing when she felt Evie’s hand ghosting over hers, pleading contact. She paused, glancing back at Evie to see that she was gazing up the last flight of stairs with a pinch of concern in her brow.

Jay took a few more steps past them, then stopped.

“I think—I can hear him now,” said Evie, her voice low and breathy. “Is he…” She trailed off, worrying at her lip as she took in the rhythm of pauses between the unintelligible sounds of murmuring. “Is he talking to someone?”

Mal made to reply before she was distracted by movement. Her eyes flickered to Jay, who had his back to them both. His hand was traveling slowly up the curve of the iron railing, and with how his heel had begun to lift off the carpet, it was clear he had lost interest in letting Mal set the pace for them.

She bristled at the sight, her green eyes flashing bright with anger. _“Jay...”_ His hair spilled off his shoulder as he turned his head to look at her, showing a glimpse of an eye-roll.

“I’m—” Jay started, then cut off as a yelp resounded from upstairs, followed by a series of mellow thuds that gave the impression of someone lightly striking a wall in frustration.

Jay was up the stairs like a bolt of lightning, without a ghost of forethought. _“Damn it,”_ Mal hissed, surging after him with such force that she nearly pulled Evie’s arm out of its socket, given that their fingers were still entwined.

Mal leapt onto the second floor landing like a predator with a scent of blood, only to falter at the sight of Jay just… standing there, looking guarded. It made the hair on the back of her neck rise, especially as the sudden depth of quiet registered.

The atmosphere up here was, in some ways, the worst of anywhere in the manor, despite having the finest upkeep. In the silence, it felt hard to breathe. It felt like… all the air had been sucked out; like how fish must feel in their death throes.

Mal and Evie glanced at each other, then moved closer to Jay.

They stood in a huddle with their eyes on the same terrible thing: a white-painted door that stood slightly ajar on their right, just a few yards away from the top of the stairs; a door from which a band of yellow light was spilling out across the floorboards in striking contrast to the steel grey shade of afternoon daylight; a door tied to memories that left them staring at it as though some blazing, seven-winged angel with a thousand eyes to judge them would shortly manifest to drag them across the threshold if they dared approach it.

Mal shuddered viscerally, feeling Evie’s trembling hand in hers, exactly as it had shook so long ago in the moments before Mal had yanked free of the grip, closing the door on Evie with a thrill of sadism she had never again felt—

Not since the screaming and the pleading had started. Not since she had turned her back on it, like she was unaffected.

Not since they had grown to have… _whatever-this-was_ between them _,_ in spite of it all, and not since she woke in a sweat the first time she had shared a bed with Evie—

Woke up because Evie was thrashing, crying, reliving that night-from-long-ago as a dream, and so vividly that Mal’s own mind had found the memories _and made them real again._

“N-no, no, don’t—” (The words came quiet and broken, but with the force of a gut-punch.) “No! M’sorry, m’sorry. I—please, I’ll—won’t—”

Evie closed her eyes, took a steadying breath, and resolved to deal with her demons directly. She started for the closet, only to stumble in her heels when Mal and Jay scrabbled to stop her as frantically as if she’d gotten too near to a cliff.

Slowly, with an air of bone-weary patience, Evie disentangled her fingers from Mal’s, and shrugged Jay’s hand off her arm. She turned around to face them, unfazed by Mal’s attempt to look annoyed with her. _Did she even realize she was pouting?_

Evie gestured for them to listen, glancing meaningfully into both their eyes. _‘I think—’_ She tapped at her temple as she mouthed the words. ‘ _—he’s just sleeping.’_ Her hands folded in a prayerful way, and she mimed laying her head on a pillow.

Jay’s expression softened as, just then, a low whimper sounded from inside the closet, followed by several words that were strung so tightly together, they registered as nonsense.

 _‘Nightmare,’_ said Evie, to which Jay slowly nodded his agreement. They both looked to Mal for her reaction, and she gave a curt nod to signal that she agreed, as well.

Evie gave a slight smile and turned on her heel, resigned to having Mal and Jay at her back like a pair of guard dogs so long as they respected her stride. _She wasn’t afraid anymore._

And to _prove_ it, she was going to rip that closet door right open like it wasn’t _at all_ how she imagined the mouth of hell, and then she was going to walk right inside and—

Evie’s heart stuttered as she felt someone yanking her back with more force, more _insistence_ than before. She clutched at her chest, half-expecting one of Cruella’s minions to have emerged from the woodwork with intent of violence.

But instead, she was spun around in Jay’s grip and pressed into Mal’s chest without so much as a whisper of explanation. She tried to push away from Mal, but stilled instantly when she felt an assertive hold on her shoulders.

Evie blinked, looking down slightly into Mal’s pale green eyes, surprised by the sudden austerity she saw there.

 _‘What?’_ mouthed Evie, feeling a flutter of worry in her stomach. Mal grimaced slightly as she fixed her gaze on something behind Evie, then slowly released her hold.

Evie turned to see Jay a few feet ahead of them, in front of the closet door, his fingertips hovering above the fresh paint that was smeared around the edge of the door—

 _No, not the paint,_ she realized. _The blood. The copper handprints._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, so now you know why this is _Part One._ ;)
> 
>  **Update (02-May-2020):** I apologize for the delay in posting the next chap! I promise it's coming, and I remain very excited to finish it up so I can share it. I had to step away from my draft for a while because life was stressing me out, so I ended up nitpicking my draft to the point where I couldn't stop second-guessing it. But anyway, it's all good! At this point, I'm just waiting to be in the right headspace to engage with the mood/themes of the next chap. I'll get it done ASAP. <3
> 
>  ~~The next chapter is more than half-drafted, so hopefullyyyy, I won't leave anyone dangling off this cliff too long. In the meantime, please feel free to yell at me in the comments.~~ I'm superrrrr excited to finish up the next chapter, but also just excited as heck to finally be hitting publish on this one! It's been a solid couple weeks in the making. I hope you all enjoyed it. Thank you so much to everyone who has left kudos and comments thus far. You guys make me smile every damn time. <3
> 
> Okay, so MAL. Here's a quick rundown on what was happening with her in this chapter: y'all know how reptiles tend to be sensitive to vibrations? Well, I thought to myself... Mal's not human and she's already got the glowing eyes thing going on, so it's really not that crazy to imagine that her ability to "hear" is sharper than the others in the sense that she is very, very sensitive to vibrations (especially when she concentrates on that sense). I figure this is something Carlos would have figured out about her a long time ago, but he doesn't say anything because she obviously has a thing about it. She likes that it gives her an edge while at the same time, she's disappointed that her mother doesn't recognize it as a skill, just something that she should "obviously" be able to do (because it's biological, not magical... which is actually great since that means the barrier can't mess with that ability of hers).
> 
> Anyway! If you want updates on my writing, possible sneak peeks into the upcoming chapters, or if you have any questions, please feel free to look me up on Tumblr btw. I'm @hersilentlanguage on there. Don't be shy to say hello! And definitely let me know if you have an active Descendants blog/side-blog because I need more of this content on my dash, please and thank you.
> 
>  **Chapter-specific trigger warnings (SPOILERS):** Multiple descriptions of blood, heavy _implications_ of graphic violence (i.e., evidence of past occurrences), themes/implications of child abuse and neglect (see: Cruella and Maleficent), recurrent implications/descriptions of extreme anxiety, strong implications of PTSD towards the end of the chapter, depictions of/references to bullying and toxic behaviours between friends (if you've read the books, then think: how Mal and Evie met, but a darker, more complex take on the situation), and I think that's it? _Please let me know if you think something should be added._

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! If you enjoyed this, I'd wholly appreciate any kudos or comments you wanna throw my way. I won't promise exactly when I plan to update since I have a lot going on and, you know, life comes first (it's unfortunate, really), but feel free to hit that subscribe button if you want to be alerted whenever the next chapter drops.


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